


Our Simple Song

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Complete, Fluff, Funny, Happy Ending, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Sufin parents, Teen Crush, Thicc Ivan, ace japan, gay Ivan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25263745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: Ivan is a musically talented student, new from Russia. Will he strike his chord in America or fall flat?E rating is Ivan's fault.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), Finland/Sweden (Hetalia)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 94





	1. Fresh Start

_The crowd was a glittering sea of camera flickers and adoring faces in darkness. The stage lights followed Ivan as he walked up in a stunning tuxedo. The announcer, Ivan's former bully from grade school full grown, gestured with flourish._

_“Here to present the greatest musician Russia has never seen, Ivan Braginsky!” The crowd was enthusiastic like the announcer, several shirtless men screaming his name._

_“Please, I'm a humble teenage prodigy. I only do what I can.” Ivan nearly whispered into the microphone, blushing._

_“So humble. It only makes him getting first chair so much more important. Congratulations!”_

_Ivan was handed beautiful flower bouquet as all the teachers that once isolated him applauded. One particular bitch from gym class called out. “I'm so sorry I called you fat! You're so talented you make me hate myself!”_  
  
_“He has that effect. Now for the official first chair blow job!” The announcer went on, brimming with joy. “We assembled only the hottest gayest models to suck you dry.”_

_“Oh, if it's part of the ceremony.” A flushed Ivan hummed, seated by beautiful blonde men. Reality shifted in the way it did, and Ivan was now nude. A dozen sexy twinks, hunks, and twunks waited on knees to serve him. The crowd was now gone, replaced by red silken sheets and petting hands. Hands cradling his balls, stroking his dick, playing with his nipples._

_“First chair, I'm so honoured to be fucked by him.” one sexy massage model cooed._

_“I want him to cum in me first.” another man whined._

_Ivan could not pin down specifically how he was being pleasured, inexperienced and barely legal. All that mattered was how hot and good it was. His arched and pressed into soft touch, getting closer every second. It was all too perfect, two men kissing and suckling his genitals. Love for music and men bloomed in his heart, and his body._

_Ivan squeezed the blanket as he came. It was a legendary amount of cum. Male models raced to lap it off his pale soft body. A rather intrusive voice entered the fantastically gay narrative._

“Ivan, wake up.”

_Everything was so satisfying as he floated down from personal victory. Another man climbed on top of him, blue eyes pleading. “Please fuck me next, I want to be yours!”_

“Ivan, wake up! You'll be late for school.”

Ivan was rudely shaken awake, confused and disoriented. His mother stood above him, dropping clean school uniforms on the rumpled twin bed. Groggy, Ivan reached out. “First... First chair?”

“Go shower, you smell like oxen.” Mama warned, rushing off.

Ivan sulked in bed a moment. He was still a somewhat fat Russian music nerd with no friends or awards. He still lived in a terrible American apartment with his psychologist mother. His grandfather was still an ancient sexist relic dragged from soviet times. In short terms, his life as a recent Russian immigrant still sucked.

One shower later, Ivan was dragged into a navy and grey school uniform. The kitchen was an excuse of a counter jammed with food jars and small appliances. Somehow, Mama cooked a feast daily in this claustrophobic space.

Sitting, Ivan was served blini with jam. He ate alongside his grandfather quietly. Dadushka was everything Mama was not. Dadushka was withered from smoke and drink, scarred and hunched. Mama was ample, tall, and proud.

“They called me general winter in the war, you know. I once killed a man with his own knife.” Dadushka ranted after a bite of jam smeared blini.

“I know, Papa.” Mama hummed, sitting at the kitchen table herself.

“I left him to die out there in the frozen tundra. That's why they called me general winter.” Dadushka, while still mobile and clearly intelligent, had his moments. He constantly forgot what year it was, often believing he was in the 1990's. The situation made Ivan cringe. As a true Russian family, they refused to put him in a facility.

“But that fool Yeltsin wouldn't know bravery. I hope he dies.”  
  
Mama looked at her food far too intently, then looked up. “How is the cat Papa?”

The cat, simply named Cat, was flossy white cuddles and a pink nose. They had been replacing the cat every twelve years or so since 1991, when Dadushka's time recollection fell apart.

“Oh cat is fine. Aren't you, my kitty. White like the snows of home, my kitty. Yes you are my kitty cat.” Dadushka's love for felines outweighed his creeping dementia. He let the nosy pet on his lap, gushing with praise. The elderly man chuckled when the cat tried to step on his breakfast, leathery expression lifting slightly in a smile.

Ivan and Mama finished breakfast quickly, while Dadushka took long shaky bites. “Felicya will visit soon, Papa. You can both talk and have tea.” The elderly Italian next door, Felicia, was a kindly figure that visited often to ensure Dadushka was safe. She also loved taking about her grandchildren... for hours.

“Good. I read an article about the world wide web I found fascinating! Apparently it is now in communist china. Lenin forbid the Americans figure that one out.”

Ivan gave Mama a long side glance. They strictly regulated all information coming into the house hold. Upsetting Dadushka was not an option, since he was still capable of cleaning up after himself and making good dinners. Had a pamphlet been slipped under the door while they were gone?

“School now, Ivan.” Mama concluded, grabbing her glossy blue and gold purse.

“Yes, Mama.” Ivan placed his dishes in the sink like a good boy, ready at the door after.

“Good luck at school, Ivan.” Dadushka called out, still shakily working on his breakfast. Cat watched with interest, wanting to poke the jam with a pink padded paw.

Ivan waved lazily, half way gone. The drive to school was silent, Ivan fretting with the stitching of his new uniform. “Mama?”

She looked over in prompting once the car was parked. They were a few minutes early, in front of the prestigious stone school. It was an exclusive establishment Ivan wiggled into due to his immense musical talent. Word had spread far, even in Russia.

“Dadushka is getting worse isn't he?”

Mama never answered the question, just like now. “We have to take care of him. It's what family does.” she repeated dryly. Leaning in, she landed a wet mom kiss on his cheek and squeezed him. “Have a good day at fancy school, my baby bear.”

Ivan made squeaky noises of protest, but adored the attention. “My face Mama!”

“You love it. Now get out of car.”

With a push, Ivan was in front of the school. His bag in hand, he waved good bye through the shiny car window. The shiny new car drove into the distance, leaving Ivan to face his dread. The first day of school in a new country.

He could only hope he would survive to the last period.


	2. Instruments Ready

The key to survival in private school was status. Alfred took his golden blonde hair, talents, and social position seriously. He was always on top of Instagram and twitter trends, learning the latest meme. He had to be perfect, as one of the most popular kids in school. There lie his problem.

Maintaining this social pedestal was hellishly high maintenance. There was a ripple in the rumour waters, of a new kid this year. He was some foreign student, probably another exchange student. These obstacles came and went. Alfred smiled as council president, showed the poor bastards around. He was sainthood and temperance. He was charm and community service. Alfred was whatever he needed to be to stay on top.

So it was that Alfred was scoping out his latest discovery. This new kid was pale and built like a truck. One might say he was fat, but risk getting his arm fractured. That was the general vibe of the guy three tables over.

“That's the music star from Ukraine?” Alfred whispered among his colleagues, a motley mix of ace students, jocks, and intellectual artists. This was the elite territory, a place Alfred clawed his way into early on.

“Russia. He sounds stupid.”

“How talented can he really be?”

“I heard the guy was paid in by talent scouts.”

“Yeah right, and I'm a YouTube millionaire.”

“It could happen!”

Conversation was easy in this upper crust world. Alfred was an nice fit, the son of a regional IKEA manager. His twin brother Matthew was still true to their dirty blue grass roots, refusing to attend private school. He was in public high school, like an ugly peasant.

Alfred wanted nothing to do with the middle class, especially after meeting his biological father in London two years ago. That sandy blond gremlin was nothing like his adoptive father, Berwald. Dad, who loved working and carpentry. A man that shared his life with two adopted five year old boys from a filthy English apartment. Dad, who sounded insanely Swedish despite moving to America twelve years ago.

It was a vast understatement to say Alfred loved his adoptive father. This was powerful motivation to impress the parental figure. Alfred had to win absolutely everything. He had to be the most popular. He had to be the most athletic. He had to be the most talented.

Did this new kid pose a threat? Alfred wasn't sure. The guy was chubby, but not out of shape. His school uniform had a cat pin on it. That was cute, but weird. He was eating some fancy lunch from home in a glass container, picking at some kind of meat. His hair was silvery blond and wavy.

The new guy looked up, catching Alfred's baby blue stare. Alfred was trapped, a chill running down his spine. The guy's eyes were almost purple in their richness, soft and warm. He was looking at Alfred like he knew him. What the fuck was going on here? Alfred stuttered a breath, like this electric moment was a century long.

The new kid looked away, releasing this bizarre event. Alfred defensively looked around his group, a few concerned with his behaviour. Matthias, stupidly brash son of a toy company CEO, spoke up. “You stared across the room a second. Are you having a stroke, bro?”

“Thought I saw a celebrity.” Alfred lied, poking his chicken fried rice angrily. The new guy had cast some sort of wizard spell on him, gypsy magic from Russia. This was a new danger Alfred had never encountered before.

“I hope he doesn't go for chair in the violin section. I've earned first chair.” Emil fumed softly. He was a patient student, having conquered the school orchestra over many years. His skill level with a violin was nearing prodigy levels, the pride of the school.

“No one could beat you.” Alfred agreed.

“You should try out for orchestra Al, you're good at trombone.” Kiku suggested, Alfred's best friend of Japanese descent since diapers. Kiku's mom used to help them before child services intervened. There's was a special platonic friendship, as Kiku was entirely Asexual.

“You think? I was mostly playing it for memes.” Alfred thought out loud, daring to look over to the new kid again. The hulking Russian was gone. Somehow, Alfred had a tingle of disappointment.

“The other trombone guy went to college, so... not much competition.” Emil replied, packing up his lunch. They had minutes before math class started.

It clicked in Alfred's head. He already had a way to defeat the new guy. He was going to crush that evil magic Russian in Orchestra. That would utterly defeat the threat that had presented himself. No one made Alfred lock up like a confused kid. No one made Alfred look weak.

Besides, Tino and Dad would be really impressed if he made it onto another school team.


	3. Warm Up

There was a lot of things Ivan read about America prior to arriving. Learning English at breakneck speed meant tackling lots of new material. Ivan had a fairly whole picture of the society they were fleeing to as they left a hostile motherland behind.

Corn dogs. White smiling teeth. Student debts. Beaches, corn fields, and cow farms. This mosaic impression was what Russia once reached for but failed, drowning in centuries of drunken corruption. There was a new aspect Ivan never expected. The entirety of the nation seemed to be gripped by curiosity.

Every movement and word from Ivan was followed by a small audience. The purr of his deeply Russian accent was a new flavour. The unsmiling graces of his building routine were novel. After a few minutes, most would be satisfied with a look over. The pressure would cease, and operations would proceed as was normal.

One set of eyes never stopped looking, heavy in presence. Ivan only caught a flash of blue eyes during science class. For two more periods, the source was strong but elusive. When lunch arrived, Ivan couldn't take it. Seated alone with his sweet and sour beef on noodles, the ash blonde could not stand this torture.

Ivan was being hunted, and it was starting to piss him off. The burning blue eyes were located once more, locking with his gaze. Blue, brilliant baby blue threatened to drown Ivan from three long tables away. Eyes like tropical gems. Beautiful blue eyes attached to a tanned boy around Ivan's age. A tanned boy that was lean and blonde. The handsome creature hunting him was catastrophically handsome.

Feeling a little warm, Ivan had to look away and breathe. This was too much. Ivan had a crippling weakness for archetypal beauty like this. All his most ravaging sexual fantasies involved blue eyed blondes. Panicking, Ivan fled the cafeteria with lunch in hand. Taking shelter in a hall, he collected his wits.

Ivan needed to keep his act together. He was a new American citizen in the making! His first school day was not fawning over ghosts of what was. This new boy would not be a repeat of Minsk. His short stay in Belarus had been a flaming disaster.

Putting on his game face, Ivan steeled himself for another class. He could do this. The sensation of stalkers faded away until an hour before pick up. Ivan had an open study period. Some kids used this time as intended, completing homework or studying in the library. Most chose to socialize in the halls or pursue hobbies. Band practice could be heard several classrooms down from the library. Intrigued, Ivan listened to his trained musical instinct. He had always loved music, his only form of emotional venting in fiercely homophobic Russia. Sound was a his canvas, and he was an eternally thirsty artist.

Lured in by disjointed siren song, Ivan peeked his head into the classy wood auditorium. A hot pink poster advertised auditions on the door. Oh lovely! This older school had an orchestra, or an attempt at one. The darkened seating centred around a polished black stage. Two violinists, a cello, bass, oboe and a french horn player were parked in chairs with their respective instruments.

A harried conductor in exquisite dress was yelling. “No! Absolutely not. Get off the stage!”

A little girl butchering a flute solo walked off stage, on the verge of tears. She really had been horrible, like a shrieking bird.

“Next!” The conductor's voice cut through clutters of sound like a knife.

Mystery boy walked on stage, the enigma from lunch time. Ivan's fantasy boy was armed with a trombone and ready to dazzle. “Ready to blow your socks off Mister.” He greeted with boyish charm.

The conductor was not impressed. “Anyone with a trombone can level a building, Alfred. I want to see if you can play. Scales please, all positions.”

 _Alfred_. Alfred was the mystery hunk. Ivan drew closer in the dark of the auditorium, listening to Alfred play the essentials of his brassy trombone. He was smooth in transitions and overall performance.

“You're in. Whose next?” The conductor confirmed with the dismissive wave of a hand. Alfred changed the grip of his convoluted instrument to fist pump in victory. Joining the other band members, Alfred gave a high five to the cello guy. They appeared to be friends.

“Me!” A tall male with a shock of hair shouted, racing past Ivan in the aisle.

The conductor groaned. “Matthias, no.”

“I learned the monster mash. I'm pro now.” The obvious jock cheered, taking a seat at the old wooden piano on stage. He was horrible. He was indescribably terrible, in exactly the way a soccer player on a piano would be.

“No.”

The student was smug as he was untalented. “You're just jealous.”

“Let's call it that. Next.”

Two girls later, Ivan was the only one left in the audience. The conductor was sharp eyed, catching him lingering. “You, boy. What instrument are you auditioning for?”

Ivan was not a machismo sex god that he wished to be. He was actually quite shy with strangers. “P-piano. I know violin too.”

The brunette adult was as quick as his sharp words. “Good, try the piano.”

Ivan blanched, accent thick. “W-what?”

“I don't have all day young man.”

Bending to superior dominance, Ivan hesitantly walked up on stage. He sat nervously at the piano, testing a few keys. He stopped immediately. “This is out of tune.”

The conductor genuinely smiled, pleased. It was not a warm expression. “You noticed. Play the best song you know.”

Ivan sweated on the spot, eyes watching his every breath. This was... not great. Still, Ivan had tackled crippling shyness before. He was a boy, a man really, of passions. Throw bland sheet music at him and he was a flat note. Shake a fine booty before him, and he unfurled a living concerto.

Recalling his latest crush in Belarus, Ivan set his fingers to keys. It was mostly improvised nonsense with a jazzy upbeat tempo. It skipped and hopped like Ivan's heart at the possibility of love. Just as he got into the groove, the conductor cut him off.

“Stunning! Stunning! You must be our new pianist.”

“But...” Ivan protested, having drifted into this place. He was supposed to be studying five rooms over.

The conductor was quite pleased, demanding and brusque like a force of nature. “I insist. We start practice Friday.”

Frozen by anxiety, Ivan could only gape slightly at the order. His life was taken by the flow of fortune once again, and he had no idea where he would end up.


	4. First Verse

Alfred didn't know how to process anything. It was why he lay in bed that night, staring at the wall in a haze of insomnia. It started earlier in the day at that stupid orchestra audition. He slayed it, like he expected to. Trombone, his only instrument, was loudly fantastic. That was when that dastardly Russian showed up.

The jazzy song the new guy played was jumpy. It was fun. It travelled up Alfred's spine into his brain, his fingers, his bones. The sound hijacked his brain into mush, casting aside words. His struggled not to play along, a reflex like breathing. This lack of control was infuriating, but so much more.

Ivan Braginsky terrified Alfred for a second time that day. The last time Alfred lost this much control, he was torn away from his admittedly negligent biological father. The event was thirteen years ago, but eternally felt like days. It was an anxiety both twin boys struggled with. Matthew turned to marijuana, while Alfred turned to popularity highs.

Unable to stand the silence of night, Alfred left his modern sailor themed bedroom to sneak downstairs. The kitchen was cutting edge minimalism with splashes of colour. It was expected, since Dad brought home out of season things from his IKEA job monthly.

It was too late to spot Dad by the kitchen sink, floor boards squeaking at the last step. Dad's cyan blue eyes flickered over, framed by intellectual glasses. He was a kind Swedish giant that Alfred adored. “Brat, staying up.”

“Brat, staying up.” Alfred mimicked in teasing, crashing into his parent for a hug. Dad picked up him for a spinning crushing embrace, despite the 'brat' being a legal adult now.

Dad looked tired as well, resuming stabbing at a block of wood in the kitchen sink. Whittling was a habit ingrained into his soul from years in shops with his own father. “Are you having a nightmare?”

“No I'm... I don't know.” Alfred shivered, vulnerable as ever. He looked up, wide eyed in fear and misunderstanding.

Dad's voice took on a serious edge, voice stoic. “Did someone hurt you?”

Alfred shook his head, playing with the hem of his sleeping shirt. Dad took off his glasses, blind without them. It was another thing adoptive father and son had in common. Alfred was brave enough to use contact lenses though. Cleaning glasses with a soft rag, Dad gestured to the kitchen table. It was the universal signal for 'Let's talk and sit'. The gesture was entirely in the wrong direction, but it was understood.

Alfred sat, twiddling his thumbs. He could barely process the Russian mind control projected upon him. It was impossible to voice what he didn't understand. “Dad it's... He... That jerk mind controlled me.”

Dad sat beside him puzzled. He perked a brow.

“He did the laser eye thing and fried my brain. Then I was going to beat him at orchestra stuff. The Russian played piano and my head was like...” Alfred wiggled his hands, them imitated an explosion. “... then my brain fell out and I forgot how to talk. But he's in my science class and he's going to control my head thoughts! We have to do a lab soon!”

“What are you talking about?” Dad asked skeptically.

“The guy from school, you know? Keep up.” Alfred rattled on, then paused. He sucked in a breath, hand over his mouth in surprise. “I don't have to beat him up. I have to degrade his reputation.”

“Violence is wrong. You should talk out your problems.” Dad warned, unsure what was going on.

The advice fell on deaf ears. “Then Ivan Braginsky never takes my throne. Thanks dad!”

Dad offered a half smile. “No problem?”

Alfred finally slept well, scheming even in his action packed dreams. A week rolled by, and the time of reckoning was at hand. As a natural leader, Alfred was paired with a new shy student several times a year. This time the victim was a villainous Ivan Braginsky. The taller male approached Alfred's table where Kiku already sat. The three of them had to understand the Coriolis effect in a visual display of teamwork. Brimming with ideas, Kiku and Alfred already had this in the bag. Ivan was merely an accessory to their collective genius. He was nothing, a _worm_ , to school president Alfred.

Ivan was in a soft navy sweater, cat pin ever present. He was all thing rosy and harmless, clutching a purple notebook. Alfred could feel it already, a magnetic pull. It tugged on his body and his fraying sanity. “Hi.” Ivan greeted quietly, delicately shy.

Words. Sounds constructed repeatedly in order to convey meaning. Alfred struggled to form these things, gasping out a tiny “Hello” in return. Ivan was before him, so sweet and submissive. Submissive? Why did this matter? Why did Alfred care if anything was sweet unless it was food? People weren't food, unless you counted sucking... No. Alfred was not having these intensely gay thoughts, let alone discussing them.

Blushing like a cherry, Alfred started at his balled fists. Kiku watched him in subtle amusement. He probably knew what was going on but not saying anything. He did that a lot lately. Alfred's best friend since forever bailed him out politely.

“We were going to make a moving model of cloud radiation from Fukushima. How it travelled so far due to Coriolis and...”

Alfred heard nothing. Ivan listened demurely, in a Russian sort of way. There was an enigmatic aloofness under this cutesy act. It was a secret persona Alfred wanted to rip open like foil covered chocolate. Kiku gave Alfred a shoulder slap back to reality. “Al.”

“Science.” Alfred mumbled, blinking slowly. He tore tunnel focus gaze away from Ivan's plush body.

“Can I talk to you in the hall?” Kiku asked seriously, all dark eyes and raven hair.

“S-sure...” Alfred swallowed, unsure if he could move at all. Ivan offered a more authentic smile at being observed affectionately. It was paralyzing and warm at the same time. Dragged out into the hall, Alfred was free of Ivan's watery spell.

“What is happening? You are acting insane.” Kiku observed sharply, aware Alfred was blind to subtleties.

“I... I don't know. I don't...” Alfred began to shake, stressed. He held himself, confused and scared. His guts turned and wanted to crawl on Ivan's lap, sick with sticky emotion. “I see him and my brain goes all... I don't know what's going on Keeks.”

Kiku didn't understand, at peace with his asexuality since two years ago. “Maybe you have a flu?”

Alfred nodded uncertainly, frightened. Was he going to die from a brain flu? “Yeah. I'll go to the nurse. Can you cover me?”

“Of course. This is easy stuff.”

Alfred smiled, relieved. “Thanks man.” With that, he walked off in search of relief for his churning insides. Maybe this whole mystery would go away magically, like laundry at home. Either way, everything was Ivan Braginsky's fault.


	5. Building Volume

There was something magical about retail apocolypse. Before his sugar daddy days, Alfred recalled dim memories of mall Santa and glittering lights. Seeing the local mall in bizarre limbo made Alfred's soul stir. Nostalgia was a powerful muse, today more than any other. 

The local mall, Townstone Shopping Centre, was losing it's Sears department store. The liquidation sale had attracted shoppers out of the woodwork like lice. If you ignored the “going out of business” signs, It almost felt like 1997 again. The twenty or so stores stringing the 1980's relic mall along were packed with all generations of shoppers.

The smooth 1990's shopping jazz soothed the air of this dead retro space. If Alfred tried, he could still lose himself to the neon and recessed lighting of the public shopping centre. Before the adoption. Before his biological father was caught selling drugs and fled to London. Before Matthew hated being Alfred's identical twin. Before everything went to shit, Malls like these had been Alfred's shining capitalist home.

With the spirit of his motley past to fuel him, Alfred sat at the retro red brick water fountain in front of Sears. He put his trombone to his lips, and began to play. He poured his heart into sad jazzy tunes, mellow swells leading to sharp drops. This was no concerto of structured elegance. Alfred's song was one of confession and longing.

A few passing shoppers dropped change into a can he played on the ground. Enough for a coffee at the sad coffee hut in the once vibrant food court perhaps. Alfred appreciated it all the same. Swinging from fifth to sixth position on the trombone in brassy harmony, Alfred spotted what haunted him the most.

Ivan Braginsky was at the mall, walking towards him. Maybe Alfred was supposed to be at band practice today, but skipped out. Maybe he was wrangling with personal problems, and constantly sliding to failure.

Personal growth was hard. It was easier to go to the mall and play for coffee money. Finishing up a song, Alfred realized he didn't have time to flee. Ivan stood before him looking discouraged. At least, beyond that neutral mask he wore, he seemed upset. Living with a largely non verbal Dad thirteen years made Alfred decent at emotional bullshit screening.

“Al.” Ivan spoke softly, still in school uniform.

Alfred packed up his things, scared to his core. He didn't understand the fire within sparked by this sweet boy. He had never felt so strongly in all his lonely life.

“Alfred. Why do you hate me?” Ivan asked again, grabbing a sleeve.

The shorter man locked up, meeting eyes with his doom. “W-what are you talking about?”

“You ditched me as a partner in science. You're skipping band so you don't have to talk to me. You hate me.” Ivan explained, refusing to let go.

Alfred was shocked Ivan to come to such a wild conclusion. This saccharine soft creature could change him, scooping out his insides like a hungry vulture. Ivan was the last person since bonding with Dad that could visibly affect him. Alfred didn't know he needed anyone until he laid eyes on the dangerous giant before him.

“I... I don't hate you. I'm scared of you.” Alfred admitted, pulling away from Ivan.

Ivan squinted, relinquishing his hold on Alfred's very American sweater. “I don't understand.”

Anger rescued Alfred before he shrivelled on the spot. He defiantly jabbed a finger at Ivan's chest in emphasis. “Of course you do! You're doing all this to me! You're manipulating me! You're making me lose my mind! I had four hours of sleep last night because of your stupid head games!”

Ivan was utterly lost, slack in posture. “I'm... How am I...” He took long strides to follow Alfred as he fled with his can of change and trombone case. It was easy, given how leggy Ivan was. “Al, stop!”

“No!” The golden blonde paused, stopping anyway as he looked back. Genuine fear darkened blue eyes. No one seemed to care about the drama, strolling past them.

“Alfred. Do you... like me?” Ivan dared ask, catching up and grabbing a hand. The palm was sweaty from nerves. Alfred looked rather faint from stress.

Alfred blushed fiercely, squirming under the pressure. He failed to say yes, but he also failed to speak at all. That was essentially Russian for yes in Ivan's books. Hiding in his flag patterned hoodie, Alfred looked anywhere but Ivan. “I think... I think I'm going to throw up.”

Pushing limits, Ivan gave a comforting arm rub. “If you liked me, that wouldn't be a bad thing.”

Alfred's true feelings finally showed. He looked absolutely scared of Ivan, of himself. It was clear to both males he had no idea what was going on. Ivan understood this apparently, whispering softly. “I might... like you too, if you give me a chance.”

Heart thundering, Alfred was enveloped in a kind hug. He was going to die from melting. This was it, his ultimate demise. Instinctively resting his head in the crook of Ivan's shoulder, he shuddered. It was exactly as nice as he imagined, scented vaguely like lilac laundry detergent.

Ivan's voice was a purr, undoing Alfred's brittle control. “Breathe before you pass out.”

“Oh god...” Alfred sobbed, muffling himself in Ivan's sweater. He always threw up when too anxious, a shadowy side effect of his eating disorder past. Failing to push the stronger force away, Alfred plead with the impossibly attractive man holding him. “Big guy you gotta let me go.”

“I won't hurt you.” Ivan's expression was kindness. His actions were dumb. “It's okay if you –”

Alfred promptly puked on Ivan's school uniform. Both boys recoiled in disgust. Wiping his bile tainted mouth on a sleeve, apologies fell out of the anxiety crippled blonde. “I'm sorry. I get really sick when I'm nervous.”

Ivan stood in open armed shock, staring at the mess on his clothes. Alfred cringed, hiding his face in his hands. His trombone case was luckily set down a few feet away. Worst coming out reveal _ever_.


	6. Cello Jealous

The transformation was full circle. Alfred went from slandering Ivan while avoiding him, to constant companionship. The long time friend was coming to every band practice, and actively helping with the shared science project. Kiku was relieved over this last point. He claimed he could handle carrying their project, but this was a bald lie.

Kiku couldn't carry three people of research, PowerPoint, and a moving interactive model. He was only trying to soothe Alfred's persistent anxiety. He had abandonment issues since before he was adopted, and exuding natural leader vibes wouldn't erase that.

This new confident state was somehow worse. Alfred was excessively cuddly a week after “talking things out” with Ivan at the mall. You could smell the traces of bile from a bag that day. Poor creature must have vomited all over Ivan, not that either male would discuss it.

Alfred's constant playful eye contact and shoulder leans were only the beginning. He couldn't shut up about Ivan's every move when the guy was out of site. Switching from slander to praise didn't make any of this behaviour palatable. Kiku wanted one damn day of his closest friend being normal. Was that too much to ask?

Five days before the Coriolis effect project was due, Kiku was hanging out at Alfred home. The place was larger, more accommodating, and not a tiny apartment from the 1990's. In the massive living modern room, Alfred and Kiku played a racing game. It was an intellectual break from constructing their paper model of the earth.

Alfred's entire family was gathering at the door, ready to go out skating. Mr. Oxenstierna, Alfred's adoptive father, was fussing over his unofficial “wife” at the door. Tino, his corporate assistant for decades, was never far. They shared the posh city home, and their families here. Adorably shorter than “Mr. Ox”, Tino was a proud finish man with a love of family.

“ **MAXWELL, PETER, MATTHEW! GET READY!** ” Tino yelled up the stairs, a voice like thunder. It was fitting, given that Mr. Ox was almost mute.

A parade of kids trampled forth. Maxwell and Peter were Tino's adopted sons, seven and ten years old. Matthew was eighteen, Alfred's twin brother. Matthew was everything Alfred was not, determined to be his own identity.

Alfred was tan and popular in name brands at an elite private school. Matthew was humble plaid flannel and played hockey on a public school team. Alfred loved music, a skilled trombone player and concert enthusiast. Matthew screamed raw lyrics for a death metal band with his local friends. They couldn't even get along at the dinner table, arguing over the appropriate abuse of ketchup.

“Skating!” Maxwell squealed, almost tripping on his own feet. Mr. Ox caught him, of course.

“I'm gonna make a slap shot!” Peter proclaimed, pulling on his boots.

“Not if I block it.” Matthew challenged, at ease in the blended family. Although he never bonded with Mr. Ox like Alfred did, he got along great with Tino's lot.

Twin brothers made brief chilling eye contact, still not speaking to each other. Alfred had eaten Matthew's prized lemon cake two days ago, hostility unresolved. Alfred's gaze slid to his family instead. “We'll be good.”

“I left pickled veggies and fish sandwiches in the fridge boys. Eat something other than junk food.” Tino walked over and ruffled both boy's hair. Kiku and Alfred neatened their hair after, different types of vanity.

“Fine.” Alfred whined, enjoying the attention.

“ **SKATE!** ” Maxwell and Peter howled, pushing against Mr. Ox's legs. Young as they were, they could not budge the pillars of adulthood. Matthew watched in amusement, car keys in hand. Mr. Ox was teaching him all summer, now confident the eighteen year old wouldn't kill them by accident. Alfred was a terrible driver in comparison.

“Okay! Skating! Bye boys!” Tino shepherded the flock of family members out the door, the obvious leader at home.

“Bye Tino.” Alfred gushed, pausing their racing game with wave back.

“Safe travels, Mr. Ox.” Kiku echoed, familiar with everyone. He had been over for sleepovers since Alfred returned to the area eleven years ago. The noisy crowd left, door clicking as it locked behind them.

Finally, it was just Kiku, his very best friend, and a bag of salted popcorn. The raven haired seventeen year old hoped this would never change. Alfred had been his friend since forever. Before child services took Alfred away, the happy child had taken shelter frequently in Kiku's apartment. Numerous times Alfred would sleep over, everyone aware of the pretense. He was Kiku's first and very best friend when all was done.

That was why Alfred was so aggravating this last week. Kiku had been blown off three times on flimsy excuses. He knew Ivan was involved in all events. He wasn't an idiot. That's why today was special. Kiku and Alfred could finally just breathe and relax while doing crafts for school.

“So I was thinking, the radiation clouds could be green cotton balls. That way, you can tell them from the white cotton ball clouds instantly. It would look great with...” Kiku trailed off, glaring At Alfred. His friend wasn't listening in the slightest, giggling at a text on his phone.

Kiku pinched Alfred on the wrist, secretly pissed.

“Ow! What gives!” 

“I was talking.” Kiku fumed.

Alfred looked back to his phone, then turned it off. “So, I know I haven't been helping much on the project.”

Kiku said nothing at all in silent agreement. Until two days ago, his absent minded friend had contributed nothing. Ivan was more useful than him, helping with art supplies and PowerPoint.

“So I typed up that stuff you sent me, then I called Ivan. I thought we could all work on this thing together, like a team.”

Alfred's idea wasn't terrible, so Kiku didn't dismiss it right away. The irony was that he had already done most of the work. All that remained was gluing goddamn cotton balls on a paper globe display... Kiku had to be less bitter, for his friend. He could do this, if it meant long awaited quality time this month. “So... when is he coming?”

“In five minutes. It's going to be his first sleepover in America!” Alfred gushed, rosy cheeked and smiling.

Kiku almost dropped the game controller as he destroyed Alfred in the racing game. His car spun out on a hair pin turn, ending up in sand. Kiku wanted to spin out in similar fashion, but contained himself. None of this was ever discussed with him. No one told him a single thing. Other people's considerations didn't exist as soon as Ivan walked in the room.

After a breath of frustration, Kiku won the race and shut off the console. Alfred wasn't even trying today. A delicious fish sandwich would fix things. A lesser secret was that Tino's cooking reeked of the ocean, yet tasted delightful. Slipping pickled radish slices onto the sandwich, Kiku ate away his frustration.

Sure, Kiku was a third wheel now. He could make this work. It wasn't like Alfred was gay or anything. He and Kiku had discovered the LGBT rainbow of terms years ago. They had roughly settled on Kiku being Asexual, and Alfred likely the same. Neither boy was attracted to anything, keen on maintaining their platonic bond. At least Kiku was certain of this. He had his doubts about Alfred some days. Jean shorts on anyone really made Alfred's brain fall out.

Alfred followed Kiku to the fridge then watched him eat. “Are you mad Keeks? You seem mad.”

Kiku was being dramatic. Alfred probably wasn't gay, and this was all in his head. “I'm fine. We're all friends.”

“Oh good. I didn't want you hating Ivan.” Alfred cheered, grabbing a snack himself. He pulled a candy apple out of the fridge, poorly hidden by Peter. It still had 'Property of Peter' hanging on a tag. Alfred unwrapped and crunched into the treat, moaning after. “So good.”

Seven minutes later, Ivan's arrival was announced. Alfred was breathlessly happy as he unlocked the door. Ivan was welcomed like he was cherished royalty, looking nervously giddy himself. Kiku watched in horror from the hall, for he was a fool.

Alfred greeted Ivan holding both hands, vibrating with energy. After a moment, both parties dropped social graces and hugged. This was no platonic bro hug. This was tight squeeze of unspoken emotion. Alfred was trying to rub into Ivan's stupid sweater. He was trying to become Ivan's sweater.

Kiku shuddered a breath and retreated to the downstairs bathroom. Alfred was gay. He was gayer than a rainbow on pride day, during a glitter parade. The loving blonde made his gay Nordic parents look modest. Kiku was the most miserable third wheel in the history of humanity, and his evening barely started.

Splashing cold water on his face, Kiku gathered his wits. He wasn't going to be a petty bitch about this. He was going to be collected, mature, and kind. Settled once more, he left the bathroom. Ivan and Alfred were so focused on each other, they left the front door open. Alfred was giggling as he sat beside his crush, feeding him grapes. Disgusting.

The night would only get worse.

In a rush to end this experience, Kiku encouraged everyone to actually finish the project. It looked great, no doubt worthy of a high grade. The raven haired student was exceptionally proud of their combined efforts. Creating beautiful things was his main source of joy after all. He looked away from the Coriolis effect diorama, smiling.

“Al, isn't it great look –” The words lurched to a halt, Kiku feeling sick himself. Ivan and Alfred were disgustingly in love, lost in each other's eyes on the couch. Alfred glanced over, finally noticing reality again. Cuddled in Ivan's lap, he wore innocent doe eyed expression.

“What was that, Keeks?”

Ivan looked pleased with himself, wrapping arms around his prize. They might as well fuck on the furniture at this point, hormonal animals. “The project is very good, yes?”

Nope. No, no, and a thousand more refusals. Kiku was not going to suffer being a third wheel to this horror show. Sex and relations was just dandy for other people, but Kiku didn't have to witness every second of it. He had dozens of manga, hobbies, and art projects at home. They were more worthy of his time, unlike this _literal torture session_.

By the grace of fortune, Alfred's family returned from the indoor skating rink. Amidst the clatter of life and tired children dropping of skates, Kiku made his escape. He raced upstairs, grabbing his bag from Alfred's navy and white bedroom. Taking the stairs two steps at a time, He tugged on Mr. Ox's sleeve at the door.

“Mr. Ox-san, can I please go home. Our project is done. I have homework and chores.” Kiku lied, lied for all he was worth. He was a very good boy at home, having done all these things before departure. He looked back, grimacing as Alfred possessively cuddled his new universe.

Both parents observed in concern, Alfred only stopping when Matthew heckled him. Both twins were now arguing vocally about lemon cakes by the TV, while Ivan watched Alfred dreamily. “I'll drop Kiku off.” Tino muttered, hardly blind to things.

“I don't wanna.” Mr. Ox complained, gathering up skates and shoes.

“I did the boy parts talk. This one's on you.” Tino threatened sweetly. He then looked to Kiku, kindness in brown eyes. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” Kiku uttered, thankful for salvation. Things were changing, and he didn't like where it was going.


	7. True Notes

Dad sat before Alfred and Matthew at the hand made kitchen table. Both boys looked at their beloved paternal figure, expectant yet bored.

“I was on the phone with Amber, dad. Why is this important?” Matthew complained, all lip piercings, red plaid flannel, and death metal attitude.

Alfred rolled his eyes. “You're always on the phone with her.”

It was true, the paler twin always face timed with his sparkling new dutch girlfriend. They had been friends a painfully long time prior. Alfred was privately thankful they ripped things out of the friend zone. No more Matthew pining and listening to whiny alternative rock, day after day in black hoodies. That was a rough time for the entire family to witness.

“I keep myself in check. You sit on Ivan's lap and rub all over him like a horny cat.” Matthew's sneer was exactly the right amount of annoyance.

Alfred and Matthew had fought since the beginning of time for attention. It was a pattern not even Dad could break. “You know nothing of passion! You great big stoner!”

“Take that back!” Embroiled in a mostly harmless slap fight, The boys were hopeless with each other. Dad sighed and walked around the table. He lifted Alfred, always the lighter boy, chair and all to shift it over three feet. No longer in hitting range, the siblings settled for fuming.

“Cake stealing jerk.” Matthew sniped.

Alfred was ready to go for round two, but Dad interceded. “That's enough boys. We need to talk... about safe sex.”

Both adult children groaned in collective cringe. “No Dad, why.” 

“And you're both at that age and time where you're going to. You know. And...” Dad was not strong enough, failing behind stony expression. He was looking a little pink. He gestured fruitlessly, then hid in his hands. “I don't want to do this.”

“Take us out for ice cream instead.” Alfred suggested brightly. Both twins cranked up cute begging eyes to maximum, still brothers in arms after all their differences.

Dad was wilting. The boys might win this yet. Tino walked by, beer in hand. “Hows the talk boys?”

“Rescue me before I buy a pint of icecream.” Dad appealed, grabbing for his other half. Tino looked to the boys in confusion as he was pulled in front of deadly begging rays. Immune to the superpower, The shorter man rolled his eyes.

“Ber, they don't need icecream. We have popsicles in the freezer behind the...” Tino looked behind him, trailing off. Dad had ghosted away in the few seconds he was unobserved, ditching Tino with the boys. 

“That sneaky bastard.” Tino muttered, impressed. He looked to his unofficial sons, taking a seat. “Safe sex. We need to talk about it.”

“Nooo.” Alfred cried. “Dad save me from Tino!”

“Bring chocolate!” Matthew added.

Tino would not allow freedom. Ten minutes into scarring chatter about condoms and preparing others for anal sex, Peter and Maxwell wandered in. “Bored!” Maxwell proclaimed, true to his age.

Ten year old Peter followed, covered in water. “Max put the TV remote in the fish tank.”

Tino slapped his hands over a silent video tutorial about condoms on his phone. Alfred and Matthew were still frozen in horror. “Sunshine and flowers... nothing else we were talking about at all.” Tino sputtered, scrambling to protect his much younger brood.

“ **BORED!** ” Maxwell clarified himself, sticking to Tino's leg.

Tino turned off his phone, looking down in kindness. “You want to play outside with me?”

Maxwell perked up instantly, his bright blue eyes sparkling. “Can we go to the park and the slides and the swings and the... the...” The child ran out of breath, jumping around after. “Park!”

Tino eyed Alfred and Matthew seriously. “We're finishing this talk later.”

“I'm good, I think I'm good.” Alfred begged, shriveled from horror. Butt stuff was really weird, even if the innocent sibling was now slightly curious.

“Yeah I think we're good Tino, really informative. Going now...” Matthew vanished to his room in barely a breath, possessing epic ninja skills like Dad. Alfred escaped in the confusion, taking shelter under his bedroom blanket. Blushing hotly, Alfred struggled to process the icky information Tino dumped on him.

It all seemed so abstract, so far removed from Alfred's life. Men doing butt stuff seemed incredibly unhygienic and frankly, weird. This was the pure reasoning that had lead Alfred to believe he was asexual for years. Prior to Ivan's existence in his life, all of this bizarre interaction was unnecessary.

Was Alfred lonely before? Perhaps. He had come to believe this was the way of all things, the human condition. Ivan challenged all of these parameters. He made Alfred, happy, slightly sick, and vulnerable. His young soul could sing, but not in three weeks had it been chilled by loneliness.

Kissing Ivan was certainly _tempting_ , at least. Alfred hid under covers, unwilling to admit such curiosity the rest of the night.


	8. Megalovania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E stuff. Alfie has "feelings"

Things calmed down, like they tend to do. After both Ivan and Alfred had been informed of their obvious behaviour, they kept more to themselves in public. The need was still there of course. A drowning urge to cuddle, spoon, and meld together hummed silently like the magnetic field of the earth. Was Alfred prone to clinging during movies and school work? Naturally.

This was why Alfred now loved electric vehicles.

Ivan was getting fantastic grades as he integrated into north American society well. His gratuitously paid mother rewarded him with a new electric motor bike to match his new driver's license. Ivan now had mobility, allowed on all but the busiest highways. The only thing better than Ivan driving, was being his passenger.

Alfred blatantly enjoyed holding on from behind, smiling under his helmet. Between the vibration of the road and squeezing his very best friend close, there was no greater joy. They would drive a few hours a weekend, or as long as chilling fall weather would allow. Private picnics. Holding hands by the local lake. Nothing was out of their reach now, including memes.

Electric motor bikes produced almost no noise, leading the boys to a new level of comedy. Alfred was on the back of the black Adidas striped vehicle, perched precariously with his trombone. “Ready Keeks?”

Ivan revved his bike, to silent pointless effect. His fingers were still white from painting on the Adidas stripes himself. He was far too pleased about this accomplishment. “I am.”

Kiku and Matthias stood on the side lines, smartphones ready to film. “This is stupid, you might fall off.” The Japanese-American protested, still ready to record.

“I won't. I'm good at everything.” Alfred countered, giving Ivan an affirmative squeeze of a thigh. “Let's do this.”

Ivan made a happy purr of sound, and started up the bike again. Ripping around the block, Alfred barely balanced himself as he readied his trombone. He started playing, imitating a standard gas motorcycle perfectly. This was going to be awesome. There could be no downside!

Driving past Kiku and Matthias, the entire perfect act was captured. All four boys were going to be internet famous! After stopping the drive, Ivan parked his bike beside Alfred's trombone case. Dumping out the spit valve a little in an sewer access, Alfred crowed in jubilation. “That was so fucking cool Ivy!”

The other boys caught up, huffing from the slight jog. “I already put it on YouTube and Tiktok.” Matthias called out.

“Trombones are gross.” Ivan cringed, looking away from the scene be the sewer access.

Alfred ignored the common complaint. He put his emptied and reassembled instrument back in the case. “So, when we get internet rich, what do you guys want to buy first?”

“A castle.” Matthias spoke up right away, proud of himself.

“What are you going to do with a castle?” Kiku asked, highly skeptical.

The sporty blonde rolled his eyes, much taller. “Duh. To hold my money. What would you buy?”

“Anime.” Kiku's answer was swift, for he was a lover of culture. He tried to convince the rest of the school elite that mango was real literature, to no avail.

“I'd buy...” Alfred pondered what was certain to be internet millions. He looked over to Ivan happily, the same warm look returned. Oh, he felt so light and happy right now! “A kitty cat. I'd get it fancy stuff.”

 _Would Ivan like a cat? Would they share the cat? Could they name the cat together, as very best of friends forever?_ This obsessive dialogue in Alfred's head was cut off by Matthias's own commentary.

“Yeah a tiger could be a cool pet.” The jock commented, thick as ever.

“Is that illegal here?” Kiku asked the open air, pondering. Conversation drifted on to new topics as the guy all hung out. Alfred was bothered by Ivan's relative silence. What would Ivan buy with so much fame money? Would he buy it with Alfred? Could they go shopping together, maybe holding hands? Could they...

Alfred felt like he was going insane. He needed time and space to think again. Everyone was going to loiter at the park, but the herd paused when Alfred did. “Guys? I need to go home. I'm like, drowning in overdue projects.”

Kiku scrutinized him, because Alfred was a crappy liar. “You do?”

Dry mouthed, Alfred struggled not to watch Ivan every minute of the day. His irrational wants were bleeding into everything. “Yeah.” He breathed, looking at the ground.

“You're not going to walk home are you?” Ivan asked, making Alfred shiver.

“Yeah I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm –”

Ivan was having none of it. “That's really stupid. I'll give you a ride back.”

“Dude's right. That's like a forty minute walk.” Matthias agreed, mostly clueless. Kiku said nothing, which was a safe bet.

Alfred knew exactly what was going on, and ashamed to admit it. He blamed teenage hormones, even though this occasion was his own fault. “Guys really, It's nothing.”

Ivan grabbed both helmets, tossing one to Alfred. “I'll drop him off.”

Alfred stewed, rather pink as he yanked on the protective head gear. Ivan was the cause of his problems right now. Sharing a bike with him was a disastrous plan.

“See you tomorrow.” Kiku bid farewell with a wave, walking away. He ran off to catch up with a more athletic Matthias. This left Alfred stranded with the guy he normally adored to bask near. Damn those smouldering eyes, melting Alfred's brain to garbage.

“What is problem? You were fine a few minutes ago.” Ivan asked, daring to look betrayed. 

“I'm... It's... I need to take care of something at home okay?” Alfred spoke quickly in panic. He was hot with shame, shielding his lower body from observation.

“Are you injured or...” Ivan drew closer, within grabbing distance. He then smirked. “You're... you're excited right now?”

“ **No**.” Alfred denied, hating his dumb brain. Between all the bike rides and contact, he was always quick to rise to the occasion. He had to go and think of Ivan in lingerie, bought with sexy internet money. Oh no, he reminded himself of it! Alfred squirmed, now very much uncomfortable. “No I'm fine I don't need help I'm _fine_.” He hissed.

Ivan looked so smug that it was infuriating, and terribly attractive. “Let's go somewhere.”

“No.” Alfred grumbled, miserable.

“Do you want to ruin yourself in the street?”

reluctantly, the shorter male pulled on his helmet and carried over his trombone case. “F-fine. Where are we going?”

“My place. Mama and Dadushka are out for a few hours.” Ivan explained, getting on his bike.

Anything was better than getting blue balls in a suburban wasteland on a Tuesday night. Ivan's apartment wasn't awful in any particular way. It was pleasant with scents of cooking and soft knitted everything. Traces of Ivan made any room nicer, nicer to...

“Fuck can we just go.” Alfred cursed, shuddering.

Ivan was quick, whisking them away to the photo filled place. Alfred was certain his boxers were doomed. He could feel a damp spot forming in them, so hard he couldn't concentrate. He hadn't needed to fuck anything this badly since last week. Stupid hormones and feelings and everything!

“We're alone Fedya.” Ivan purred, locking the door.

“Fuck.” Alfred whimpered, hiding himself in crossed legs. He wanted to devour, but he was terrified with losing friendship with Ivan.

“I could... help.” Ivan whispered, pinning Alfred to the wall. It was hard to resist, or complain while vexed. He was so close, erection rubbing on a thigh through jean fabric. Alfred wanted nothing but release from himself, onto this adorable human being.

Ivan moaned into Alfred's skin, closing any gap. Hot and growing, Alfred could feel Ivan's own enthusiasm. Alfred was shocked he wanted more of it. “I've never... I'm a virgin, I don't know how to... I can't...” Alfred babbled, head swirling as his neck was kissed. His heart pounded in sheer horny adrenaline, but also uncertainty.

Ivan's welcome transgressions paused, his shy nature once more present. “I don't know either. I'm. I'm so... I want you all the time. I want to... kiss you and touch you and...” Ivan gave a long pause, his hungry expression matching Alfred's own basal desire. With no warning, Ivan slipped a hand under Alfred's comfort fit jeans and boxer waist band.

A firm grip wrapped around a breathless throbbing Alfred. It was glorious though dry, the first hands Alfred had ever felt from another. Soft, careful pats and squeezes unbound him. Alfred's eyes prickled with tears, too aroused to refuse. He pulled Ivan into a passionate kiss, his very first.

Ivan was drowning in this too, a low growl coming out of him. He broke off from kisses after at least three, gasping for oxygen as he ordered “Bed.” Alfred kissed him in agreement, having loosened his own belt off. He would go anywhere in this state, finally embracing what he trampled down for weeks. He wasn't in a phase, or experimenting.

Alfred was absolutely gay for Ivan Braginsky.


	9. Our Simple Song

The auditorium was packed, lights dimming as the student body crowded in. The talent show was a serious business in these parts, loaded with real student talent. A trophy and notable social standing was on the line, powerful fuel for budding artists. Students that won this gig might be able to use it in the outside world, if they were crafty enough.

Kiku had no chance in this viciously competitive display of arts. He rather liked his arms attached, settling for buying a ticket. Settled nicely near the front row with several friends, he was ready to cheer on Alfred.

Alfred had been in the show every year since he could hold a trombone. He was usually a disaster, forced to pair with others for judge's interest. Trombones were far from modern in sound or appearance, strangling the range on potential material. This year's pairing was top secret stuff, and not even Kiku was informed.

The faithful circle of friends cheered Alfred on every year regardless of how horrible he was. This year was expected to be the same. The purple velvet curtains glittered as they parted. Mr. Edelstein the conductor, Mr. Beilschmidt the principal, and Mr. Bonnefoy the art teacher stood centre stage.

“Welcome to Saint Avery's seventeenth annual talent show.” The principal greeted, dry as a stale cracker. “Today's entries will amuse, amaze, and compete for this trophy.”

The art teacher stole the microphone, saving the world from lack of charisma. “So let's hear some school cheer! Are you all ready to experience some entertainment!?” The crowd murmured some, but it was hardly a cheer. “Let's here some cheer!”

Finally pumping up the audience, the teacher relented. “That's better! A few more words from our valiant leader, then get ready to rock!”

Mr. Beilschmidt was handed back his microphone, visibly annoyed. He cleared his throat, looking over the vast crowd. “We thank all the students and parents that made this possible. Community is impossible without you.”

With light applause the show rolled on. Emil's death metal band, the Odin Ravens, was painfully loud with electric violin. Yao's knife throwing act, shocking that it passed screening at all, was thrilling. Matthias's epic dance troupe was alright. Next was Alfred, and Kiku braced himself.

“Alfred Oxenstierna on Trombone and Ivan Braginsky on piano, performing their original song 'I never had a chance'.”

Ivan and Alfred walked on stage, carrying their respective instruments. Alfred was ready to play, But Ivan's light electric piano had to be plugged in. As soft blue light focused on them, the rest of the stage went dark. The duo was dressed in all black suits and matching fedoras, trying to score style points.

With a gentle start, piano started a soft jazzy tune. It was close to the same song that captured Alfred weeks ago in magic. This version was more finished and flavourful. Alfred joined in with trombone, his brass voice wavering and delicate. Kiku didn't know Alfred could go any volume lower than train crash. After a few bars of music, Ivan began to sing into a microphone.

_I saw you from across the room_  
_Your smile captured me_  
_I saw you from across the room_  
_A perfect catastrophe_

A few bars of music played from both of them, a living tangle of muses. An intimate tone played from the piano as Alfred faded out his own section. After a breath, he took Ivan's microphone from it's lowered stand.

_I never stood a chance_  
_You had me at a glance_  
_I never stood a chance_  
_Forever this will last_

What followed was the most passionate jazz duet Kiku ever heard. It was piano and trombone twisting and rotating in harmonious chaos. Ivan and Alfred made frequent eye contact, blushing fools in love for all to see. Finally they spiraled down to a calm series of piano hums, singing in tandem.

_I saw you from across the room_  
_I never had a chance_  
_Your smile captured me_  
_You had me at a glance_

Alfred took the microphone for the last line, gazing not at the audience, but Ivan. He only spoke the lyrics, a soft promise. “It was your beautiful eyes, I never had a chance.” With a closing note of finality. The song ended.

There was a tense second of silence as the lights lifted. The audience then burst into cheer. Kiku and few others threw fake flowers for the sheer drama of it. Ivan caught a few after standing, looking a little teary from the booms of support. Alfred dragged him centre stage with an arm, microphone in the other hand as he spoke.

“Thank you! I'd like to thank the academy, my family, and all of you for being our fans. I'm so thankful to win this competition of spirit and –” Alfred's microphone was ripped away from him by the principal.

Kiku and several others chuckled as the glory hogs had to be escorted off stage with their instruments. There was several things no longer in doubt for the world. Alfred was disgustingly in love with Ivan. They might as well have kissed onstage for all the passion they exhibited. Secondly, they were a devastatingly effective jazz duet. Toss in a drummer or an oboe, and they would conquer the world.

Who knew how far they would soar on this simple song alone?


End file.
